Untranslatable
by Oswin Jae
Summary: Grimm oneshots based off of words that don't translate into English. (Mostly German, because it's fitting.) Ranging from action to romance to hurt & comfort to humor to bromance or to whatever. No slash. #1 Waldeinsamkeit, #2 Iktsuarpok
1. Waldeinsmakeit

**Hey! What's up? I'm starting ANOTHER story with sporadic updates that will expand your vocabulary! (Except this time it's for Grimm and the vocab words aren't English. [But if you like Merlin and want to learn some awesome English words check out my other story** _ **What Did You Say?**_ **]) Okay, shameless self-advertising over now.**

 **So this will jump all over the Grimm timeline, but I'll warn for spoilers at the beginning of each oneshot. This is set in early season one and spoils for... Nothing. Nihility. Seriously, like you just have to know who Monroe is.**

 **I'll shut up now. Enjoy!**

 **Waldeinsamkeit (German) - 'The feeling of being alone in the woods.'**

* * *

Monroe breathed in deep and fluid through his nose and out the mouth. He subconsciously labeled the smells of mosses and pine needles and icy winter water sluggishly tumbling through a nearby stream.

He tilted his head back to gaze through the sparse dead brown branches cross hatching the pale gold sky.

Sometimes a blutbad just needed this, time alone in the woods to reconnect with ancient roots, weider or not. It might not be the Black Forest back in Germany, but Portland was lush and rich as any fairytale.

He treaded along the uneven ground, over hills of slippery moss, rotted leaves, and brittle shards of twigs. The world was coated in a layer of liquid bronze spilt by the setting evening sun. Yes, it was nice to not have an infantile Grimm breathing down his neck and demanding Monroe's attention with stupid questions he shouldn't have to answer.

Squirrels bounded anguishingly loud through piles of leaves. Monroe's mouth involuntarily watered at the thought of hunting like he didn't anymore.

What would the Grimm think of that?

He closed his eyes. He pictured branches filled with oak leaves whipping past, feeling the snap of them over his clothes as he sprinted after his prey. The hard ground vibrated through his spine with each bound. The image of his prey was clarified and expanded in full woge.

He opened his eyes. He was alone with the squirrels, no prey in sight. No reason to prey in his life.

The gold was gone from the sky; it had faded to grey-blue while his attention was turned. He sighed. The noise of traffic would be a sore follow up to the uniquely peaceful rushing quiet of the woods. Still, he'd have to head home soon.

But not quite yet. It'd been forever since he'd drank fresh, true, ice cold river water.

* * *

 **So that was really soothing to write. The next one will have more action. But, man, this one was relaxing.**

 **Thanks for stopping by! And hey, if you feel like, drop me a review please? I read them over and over!**


	2. Iktsuarpok

**Hi. I told you I'd be back. ;) This little oneshot is set after Tarantella but not for any real reason. Not really any spoilers.**

 **Inksuarpok (Inuit) - 'The feeling of anticipation that leads you to keep looking outside to see if anyone is coming.'**

* * *

Monroe glanced out the window. He was definitely _not_ looking for someone. He was expecting to see exactly what he saw, which was, of course, nothing. Empty front yard and not a single car driving on the street.

He turned away from the window, refocusing wholly on his cello.

Still, Monroe narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

Four _days_. It had been four days since he'd last heard from the Grimm - Nick. Ever since Nick had begun using Monroe as his personal Grimmopedia he could scarcely go two days without Nick knocking on his door with some problem he needed help with, some wesen to hunt.

And the worst part? Monroe was starting to _enjoy_ it. Nick really wasn't that bad. And he would've certainly gotten himself killed without Monroe long before now.

Maybe that's why he hadn't heard from him. The idiot probably went to fight a wesen on his own, like a Bauerschwein or Lausenschlange, and actually got himself killed.

Call him faithless, but Monroe was positive any decent Lausenschlange could rip Nick in two.

Nah, Nick couldn't be dead. If he died it would probably be in some gruesome, spectacular way. It'd be on the news. Or at least in the paper.

He drew the bow across the stiff strings, the sound resonated throughout his house.

Maybe Nick was investigating a Mauvais Dentes? How _cool_ would that be?

Scratch that, Monroe thought, that would be _terrifying_.

He looked out the window again. Still no Grimm.

He sat back in his chair with a huff. Was he _bored_? He'd never been bored during cello practice before. He couldn't be _wanting_ the Grimm to come over. He was a Blutbad for crying out loud. He should be wanting to kill Nick himself for everything his ancestors had done to Blutbaden, not waiting for some Lausenschlange to do it.

Except Monroe wasn't really angry. It was more like an irritation one feels they _have_ to feel through tradition.

Nick was completely helpless and innocent. He wasn't like other Grimms, not that Monroe had met many.

What decent Blutbad could pass up the opportunity to mold a Grimm into someone to help wesen instead of a mindless killing machine?

Didn't he have a clock or something to work on?

Monroe froze as he heard a car door shut. _Don't look out the window_. He sniffed the air. It was definitely Nick; the Grimm was still alive.

Monroe schooled his face into one of proper annoyance as Nick knocked on the door.

"Really? You again?" he said as he opened it.

* * *

 **Get over yourself, Monroe, you're friends. So, writing Grimm is still really new to me, but these will be progressively more interesting as I get into it.**


End file.
